Zara let her enthusiasm for her work show, in her voice, her mannerisms, the way her face lit up. She wanted to be animated, and she was. Her mind had finally let go of her curious obsession with Bolan Zhu, the need to focus on her academia and the particular program she was spearheading overcoming the last remnants of the drug. This program was her “baby” all the way, and she was totally immersed in that world and had been for a long while when the sirens blared loudly. Instantly, the room went electric. Zara stopped speaking to look around, allowing her heart rate to accelerate just as everyone’s had to be. Her audience stood up in silence and began filing out of the room like robots.
Zara gathered her papers and turned to Zhu. “What’s happening?” Fear crept into her voice. Just enough of a note that she hoped Zhu would think was normal under the circumstances. She had to keep collecting the remaining data and destroying the hard drives as she went. There was no protection from her unless the wireless was shut down. Only half a floor to go and she’d be finished. She had no way of knowing what data was in what computer on what floor, but even as Zhu reached her, gathering her into him, she kept up the transfer and destruction.
“We have to get you to safety and then I’ll check it out,” Zhu assured. “I can’t imagine a drill being scheduled, so this is more likely a glitch in the system or someone left chemicals out when they shouldn’t have. Don’t be alarmed.” He escorted her to a small room.
No windows, Zara noted. She heard the lock turn when he left her. She didn’t bother trying the door. Sinking down onto the chair, she glanced at her watch, noting the time. She wanted to press the stopwatch, but she forced herself to leave it alone. She had time, but it would run out fast if she didn’t get out of Cheng’s facility. She knew his lockdowns could last a week or longer.
She told herself her mission was important to Whitney. He wouldn’t allow her to die, not when what she had in her head was so valuable to him. Calmly, she finished the data transfers and destroyed all remaining hard drives in the building. She could be calm because she had something for her mind to work on, but the moment that was done, fear poured in and she rocked herself in terror.
2
G
ino Mazza rested one hip against the wall and regarded his best friend and team leader, Joe Spagnola. Joe shouldn’t have been up, running around, let alone called to the Pentagon just to get their orders directly from Major General Tennessee Milton, the man overseeing the Air Force’s Division of GhostWalkers.
He knew Joe. They’d been kids together. That seemed so long ago. Gino had grown up in an extremely wealthy family, so much money it had been said they could buy a small country if they wanted. That money hadn’t done them much good when their home had been invaded and his parents and grandparents from both sides had stood in front of him and been shot down one by one for their efforts to prevent the men from kidnapping him. It had been his twelfth birthday. He’d been shot three times and left for dead because, once you killed the family, who was going to pay the ransom?
Of course, each family member had one heir. Gino. He inherited a fortune from his grandparents on his father’s side. Again, on his mother’s side. Then from his parents, and he received everything from his mother’s private trust. He got everything and he had nothing. He would much rather have had his family back. He’d turned his back on the money, detesting that someone valued it far more than the lives of his family.
Gino carried scars from those three bullets. He had earned a hell of a lot more since, but those scars ran the deepest. They reminded him every day that families could be fragile. His parents had been decent people—no, good people. He thought of them every single day and wondered what he would be like if they’d lived. Most certainly he’d be a better man.
Joe Spagnola’s family had taken him in. The two fathers had known each other since they were children. It was Joe who’d found Gino and saved his life. Life was very different after that. Ciro was head of a crime family and was every bit as ruthless as Gino’s father was kind. How the two men were best friends remained a mystery, but it was Joe’s father, not the police, who’d found the men who had wiped out Gino’s family. The men were tortured mercilessly before they were killed. They died hard, and Gino watched it all.
Joe and Gino were sent to the best schools. They also were required—and that was a polite way of saying it—to learn martial arts from dozens of trainers, the best in the world. Boxing and street fighting followed, and they trained for hours every day. They learned how to use a variety of weapons: knives, sticks, guns, everything Ciro and the trainers could conceive of.
Gino followed Joe into the Air Force and from there, pararescue training. Then the GhostWalker program. If there was one thing both men knew how to do, it was to take care of themselves. Until Joe tried to save a woman from herself. Senator Violet Smythe had stuck a knife in Joe and twisted it for good measure, making sure to do as much damage as possible. He was still healing and had no business getting on planes and flying to Washington at the major general’s insistence.
“Major General received a personal call from Dr. Whitney,” Joe announced, looking around the room at his team—at the nine men serving under the major general with him. None of them liked the idea that Dr. Whitney, the man who had created the GhostWalker program, would dare to call their boss.
Whitney wasn’t sane. They’d all agreed on that. Worse, he was a megalomaniac with far too many friends in high places and way too much money.
“It seems one of his GhostWalkers has gone missing. She was sent to Shanghai to Cheng’s facility there, the one Bellisia barely escaped from with her life. Whitney’s agent apparently managed to wipe the computers of all data, including everything Cheng had on the GhostWalker program, but she’s being held prisoner. He wants us to go in and get her out.”
There was a shocked silence. Mordichai Fortunes cleared his throat. “Wait. Whitney wants us to work for him? After all the shit he’s pulled on us, he wants us to do a job for him?”
“Doesn’t he have his own little army?” Rubin Campo asked. His voice was mild. Gino had never heard him speak above that soft, accented tone.
“Yeah, he’s got an army,” Joe agreed. “But they aren’t like us. Cheng is a powerful man with a lot of clout in Shanghai. Whitney’s soldiers are more like tanks. Or robots. They self-destruct very fast. You all know that. He’s still experimenting, and his experiments have gone in another direction. We don’t like Whitney, but the fact is, one of us is a prisoner in enemy territory and in danger. She’s a GhostWalker, the same as we are.”
Gino noted Joe looked uneasy when he glanced at Ezekiel Fortunes. The two had clashed when Ezekiel had met his wife, Bellisia. Joe had ordered her incarcerated briefly, just until they finished an important mission they were running. Ezekiel hadn’t liked it and he’d let Joe know. Gino straightened from his lazy pose against the wall. He made the move subtly, silently, gliding into a better position to defend Joe if there was need.
Ordinarily, when they were having a meeting, it was understood that Joe was in charge and no one contradicted him. He gave orders and they obeyed. That was military life. The thing was, they weren’t ordinary. They only had one another. There were four teams of GhostWalkers, but each of those four teams were somewhat isolated from other military units. That meant sometimes the lines blurred for them when they talked to one another. Or like now, when Joe was about to say something he believed Ezekiel clearly wouldn’t like.
“Whitney called Major General the moment he was informed that his agent hadn’t returned to her hotel. He said it was imperative we get there as soon as possible to get her out due to Cheng’s reputation of torturing and killing anyone he doesn’t like.”
Gino figured it stood to reason Cheng wouldn’t like an industrial spy, let alone one that would wipe out the data on GhostWalkers that Cheng had worked so hard to collect.